


Murder in a Small Town

by JhanaMay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, DestielFicletChallenge, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 16:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5212100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhanaMay/pseuds/JhanaMay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas has been so weak since Rowena lifted the attack dog spell, Dean can't help but be worried about him. When they catch a case in a small town in Pennsylvania, the gruesome murders bring things to light that Dean has always assumed would stay hidden. (Canon divergent after 11x05 - with some spoilers for earlier season 11 episodes)</p><p>Written for the monster challenge on <a href="http://destielficletchallenge.tumblr.com/">Destielficletchallenge</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murder in a Small Town

There’s less than fifty miles left on this tank of gas, so Dean pulls off the highway at the next exit. Even though he doesn’t need to eat or use the restroom, Cas gets out of the car anyway. He wanders into the travel plaza to look at postcards and trinkets, just like he’s done every time they’ve stopped during the ten hour drive from the bunker. They’re just outside of Columbus, with another two hours of driving to do before they stop for the night, and Dean knows that Cas is still angry at him for what he said before they pulled out of Lebanon.

“He’s well enough to go, Dean,” Sam had said before slamming the trunk of the Impala. They didn’t know what they were dealing with yet, so they had replenished every kind of supply they could think of before leaving the bunker.

Dean had looked away so that Sam wouldn’t see the concern in his eyes. It’s been less than two weeks since Rowena lifted the attack dog spell, and Dean still worries about the dark circles under the angel’s eyes. “He’s not up to snuff,” he’d said, shoving his duffel into the back seat.

“It’s been two weeks. He seems fine.”

Dean shook his head. “He’s still weak. He gets dizzy sometimes.”  The crippling fear he’d felt when Cas crumpled out of his chair and lay convulsing on the floor is still a living thing inside of him. He studies Cas’ every move, looking for any sign that the angel isn’t getting better.

“Dean, he’s fine. He hasn’t gotten dizzy in days.”

“Yeah, well, he still looks like shit,” Dean had barked. He’d just wanted Sam to drop it, to let Cas have a few more days to bum around the bunker and regain his strength. He just wanted to know the angel was safe. “Anyway, if he’s not a hundred percent, he’ll just get in the way. He’s a freaking nuisance when he’s not mojo’d up.”

Of course, that had been the exact moment Cas walked around the corner into the garage. He’d stiffened, eyes wide with hurt, before his shoulders slumped forward. The way he shuffled toward the car, not even looking in Dean’s direction, made it clear that he’d heard Dean’s last words. Dean hadn’t even meant them. He wanted Cas around, angel mojo or not. He just wanted Cas to be safe. But he couldn’t take them back, not in front of Sam, so he’d stood his ground.

Cas hadn’t responded, just opened the back door and climbed inside. Dean wanted to drag him out of the car and set him up on his memory foam mattress with a pile of blankets and Sam’s box set of Game of Thrones. But Cas looked resolute, and Dean knew better than to mess with him when he got like that. Cas may have lost the fire and brimstone he’d had when they first met, but he could still be pissy when he wanted to. So Dean had just climbed into the car and started the drive to Pennsylvania without another word.

By the time Dean finishes fueling up the car, Cas still hasn’t returned. He catches the bottle of water and candy bar Sam tosses him as they both get in the car, then looks past Sam at the front of the store. “He in there?”

Sam nods, not looking up from the map on his phone.

“He still sulking? We’re burnin’ daylight.”

Sam does look up then. “You’re an asshole sometimes, you know that?”

Dean just shrugs. He knows, but there’s nothing he can do about it. It’s easier to just shove aside the sick ball of anxiety he gets in his gut when he thinks about Cas getting hurt and focus on the case. Finally, Cas returns and climbs silently into the backseat. He hasn’t said more than ten words to Dean since they left, though he answers normally when Sam talks to him. Through the rear view mirror, Dean watches him flip through a small stack of postcards before shoving them into Sam’s duffel bag.

It’s another uncomfortable two hours on the road before they stop and grab a motel room for the night outside of Wheeling, West Virginia. They still have over two hours to drive in the morning, but it’s better to roll into town fresh. Dean’s back is killing him. Twelve hours in the car isn’t what it was when he was twenty-two.

They’ve given up trying to get two rooms. It still wigs Dean out a little to know that Cas is just sitting there while they sleep, but at least he has Netflix on Sam’s computer to keep him company. The angel does look marginally better tonight, since sitting in the backseat isn’t particularly taxing, but Dean doesn’t mention it. He just grunts a goodnight and curls up on his side facing away from the soft glow of the computer.

When he wakes up in the morning there is coffee and donuts for breakfast. Cas had to have gone out for them, because Sam still looks like he’s half asleep. Dean gives Cas a small smile and a soft thank-you, but Cas just nods impassively, so Dean figures he’s still pissed off.

“So,” he says, stuffing the last of his second donut into his mouth, “give me the run down again. Five dead?”

Sam lays out the computer printouts on the table. “Yeah, this little town hasn’t had a homicide in almost twenty years, and now there’s been five in the last two months.”

“Suspects?”

“That’s the weird part. Not only are there suspects, they’ve actually caught the killer in all five cases. Five different people, all stable members of the community. Almost all of them had long term connections to their vic. A husband bashed his wife with a baseball bat, a neighbor went after the guy next door with a set of hedge trimmers, the mailman hacked up a little old lady with a garden hoe. It goes on and on.”

“Okay, yeah. That’s weird.”

“Demon possession?” Castiel asks, the first words Dean has heard him speak since yesterday. He’s standing behind where Dean is sitting at the table, his trench coat brushing Dean’s bare arm every time he moves. Dean shifts slightly in his chair so it’s no longer touching him.

Sam shrugs. “Could be, or maybe they lost their souls? I'd say we're looking at another Amara situation like in Massachusetts, but this all started before she was mobile.” He glances up at Castiel.

“Either way, I will be able to tell if I can examine them.”

Dean frowns. “Are you sure that won’t take too much out of you?”

Cas growls, an exasperated sound that makes Dean clench his jaw and look away. “I am not weak, Dean.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, okay. I got it, Cas.” The knot in his stomach doesn’t lessen, so he just shoves another donut down there to cover it up.

The sky is bleak when they finally pull into the tiny town of Summerhill, Pennsylvania. Cas has been quiet in the back seat, but at least he’s answering when Dean talks to him now. They agree that he and Cas will scope out the town while Sam goes to see what the local law enforcement knows. Since it was Sam’s idea, Cas can’t even be mad at Dean about it.

They drop Sam off at the police station and then head into town. It’s small enough that they drive from one end to the other in less than two minutes. Dean isn’t even sure that something this small qualifies as a town. According to their research, just shy of five hundred people live inside the town limits, making five murders seem even more outlandish.

Tired of driving aimlessly up and down the town’s three streets, Dean spots a diner tucked away by the railroad tracks. He parks the Impala next to a Ford truck that is even older than his Baby, a bumper sticker in the back window reads _Honk if you’ve never seen a shotgun fired from a moving vehicle._

Dean just shakes his head. “Let’s see what the locals can tell us,” he says, leading Cas into the diner.

Since they’re both in their Fed suits, it doesn’t take long for the locals to spot them. They take a booth by the window and an older woman with frizzy red hair comes over with a pot of coffee. A gold nametag identifying her as Joyce is pinned to the front of her bright purple smock. “You boys here about the murders?” she asks, filling two cups. She kind of reminds Dean of what his grandmother might look like, if he’d actually known either of his grandmothers.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean responds. He doesn’t bother asking how she knew they were law enforcement. “Anything you can tell us? Odd occurrences in town, strangers hanging around, that kind of thing?”

She thinks about it for a moment and then sighs. “Not really. I mean, other than people goin’ off their gourds and hackin’ each other up, it’s been pretty normal. Strangers like yourself get noticed pretty quick ‘round here, but I ain’t heard anything. Next town over there’s some trouble with drugs and what not, but we got a pretty quiet community here.”

“Anything off about the people who did it? Anyone notice anything strange about their behavior in the days leading up to the murders?” Cas asks, his eyes too bright in the weak sun streaming in the window. Dean wonders if Joyce notices that Cas looks pale.

“Not that I noticed,” she says. “This is the only place to get a bite to eat in town, so most folks stop in at least once a week or so. Everyone was doin’ normal people stuff, far as I could tell. Sure, some of ‘em were havin’ one issue or ‘nother but nothin’ that would make a guy wanna Barry Bonds his wife’s head.”

Dean thanks her for her time and gives her a card in case she thinks of anything that could help. While Dean orders a burger with fries and a piece of pie, Cas settles for just coffee. Normally, Cas would try to fit in by using some of his mojo to make it look like he’s eating, but today he’s clearly brooding. He turns and stares blankly out the window. Joyce raises her eyebrows at Cas’ demeanor, but Dean just shrugs.

An older man wearing a grubby cap that reminds Dean of Bobby comes up to their table to suggest that “them left-wing gov’ment pansies are doin’ ‘speriments, turnin’ folks into monsters, just like in the war.” Dean thanks him for his help and waits until he turns back to Cas before he rolls his eyes. Cas doesn’t react, making Dean frown. Maybe he should just apologize for what he said. If Cas is going to keep holding onto this, it’s going to be a very long case.

While they linger, Joyce flits from table to table and chats with each patron. It isn’t hard to imagine that everyone knows everyone in a town this small. Dean overhears her listen to a dozen different sob stories, dispensing advice with each fresh cup of coffee. The thought of living somewhere where everyone knows his business kind of creeps Dean out.

Before they leave, Dean asks for a to-go order for Sam and directions to a motel. Unless Sam has something, they’re going to be here for a while.

“Closest hotel is up the highway ‘bout ten miles, just off the exit on 22. Don’t have much cause for people stayin’ in town,” Joyce offers, cashing out their bill and handing Dean a bag with a chicken salad for Sam. Dean eyes the pie behind the glass wistfully and thinks about ordering a slice for Sam just so he’ll be able to eat it when Sam turns it down, but Cas knows what he’s thinking and ushers him from the diner with a hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t need another slice of pie,” he says grumpily as they get back into the car.

“But Sam might want a piece.”

“No, Dean.” The dark circles under Cas’ eyes seem to have faded a little and his color is better now that they’re away from the diner’s florescent lights, so Dean lets it go and heads back to the police station to collect Sam.

A far cry from their usual run down motels, the directions take them to a shiny new Comfort Inn. They opt for another double room, ignoring the way the woman at the counter eyes the three of them. Dean is happy to see that it has a small kitchenette with a mini-fridge and a microwave since they’re likely going to be in town for a few days. There’s even a tiny coffee-maker that Dean immediately puts to use. “Huh,” he murmurs, sipping the slightly bitter brew before pouring a cup for Sam. “We should upgrade more often.”

Sam accepts the cup with a grin. “Not many people consider a Comfort Inn an upgrade.”

Dean shrugs, lips compressed into a thin line. “Not many people are us.”

Sam concedes the point and spreads the files he obtained from the local PD out on the table, along with some documents he’d copied from the historical society next door. “Only things connecting both the vics and their killers that I can see is that they all live within the town limits.”

“You get in to see them?” Dean asks, shuffling through the crime scene photos. Pretty gruesome stuff, even in their line of work. He hands them to Cas, but the angel just grimaces and hands them back.

“Not yet. They’re being held in the county lockup about fifteen miles from here. Figured we can start there tomorrow and then visit the crime scenes. See if we pick up any EMF or sulfur.”

Cas nods thoughtfully. “If I can get a few moments to examine the perpetrators, I might be able to tell if this was a demon possession or if they are soul-less.”

“Might?” Dean snaps. “Yesterday you said you could, and now it’s might?”  Is Cas worse off than he’s letting on?

Cas glares at him, but Dean has experienced that enough that he doesn’t back down. “You are correct in stating that I am not fully healed yet. My grace is weakened where it was damaged by Rowena’s spell,” he admits reluctantly.

“I knew it!” Dean slams his hand down on the table, making Sam jump and sending papers skidding across the surface.

“That does not mean that I am useless, Dean,” Cas insists forcefully. “I will be able to determine if there is something unusual about the perpetrators, but I may not be able to tell exactly what.”

Sam interrupts before Dean can go off again. “That’s good enough, Cas. Any leads you can get us would be great,” he says, sending Dean a look that means he should back off.

Dean sulks and refuses to respond, but he doesn’t argue anymore. He knew Cas was really hurt by the attack dog spell, but he hadn’t realized that his actual grace had been damaged. He just figured his vessel was weakened. The cold ball of fear in his stomach gets a little bigger.

The rest of the evening is quiet. Dean lays stretched out on his bed, watching re-runs of old movies on the hotel television while Cas and Sam sort through the historical documents. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve dealt with spirit possession, or maybe they’re dealing with a cursed object that is somehow passing hands. Nothing in the town records points at anything solid, but that’s also nothing new.

The next morning is spent in the county jail. One after another, the murderers are led into a small interview room where Cas and Dean wait. Sam had dropped them off earlier and headed back into town to check out the crime scenes and interview family and friends. Now, two hours and a headache later, Dean thinks that Sam got the better deal.

Every person they interviewed, three men and two women, told an almost identical story. Each one started with minor, petty annoyances with the other victim, increasing in irritation and frustration in the weeks leading up to the murders. Each person then described a feeling of calm clarity in the moments just before they decided that permanently erasing the other person from equation was the best course of action. Clandestine EMF readings taken under the table showed no signs of demon or spirit possession and Cas is convinced that they each still possess their souls. Dean has to take Cas’ word for it though, because there wasn’t a way to hide an actual thorough examination that involves Cas shoving his fist into their chests.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose as he and Cas walk out of the jail to wait for Sam to pick them up. A quick text confirms that Sam made it through four of the crime scenes, leaving only the one at the town’s Catholic Church to go. Great, churches wig Dean out.

“Something very strange is going on here, Dean,” Cas says gravely as they sit on a bench just outside the jail. At least he’s talking to Dean today, even though his tone is still icy.

Dean has been watching him closely all day, fearful that the interrogations would tire him, but Cas seems fine. Stronger, even, than he was the day before. It makes Dean feel minutely better. “Ya think?”

“The murders have steadily increased in violence, culminating with the latest one. Actually dismembering someone with a candelabra would take an incredible amount of force.”

“Yeah, no kidding. And unless that old lady is hiding a whole lotta rage under her bouffant, she seems more like the type to be baking cookies than hacking up college students,” Dean agrees.

“Even stranger,” Cas continues, “is the state of their souls.”

Dean turns to him, wide eyed. “What? You said their souls were intact, that Amara hasn’t been here slurping soul juice boxes.”

“Yes, their souls are still present as far as I can tell. What is strange is that each person has what can only be described as a smudge. Not the kind of wound that is left in a person after demon possession, or even the taint that permeated you when you carried the Mark. This is more like the smear of dirt you might get by rubbing against an unclean surface. It doesn’t saturate, but you can still see it.”

“So their souls are dirty?” Dean repeats, narrowing his eyes.

“In a word, yes. And it is most prominent with the most recent killer. What I don’t know is if that is because the most recent was most affected, or whether it has just faded with the time since the murder.” His eyebrows draw together as he stares off across the street.

“What is it? You’ve got that squinty head tilt thing goin’. Spill it.”

Cas glances at him in bemusement. “Squinty head tilt thing?”

“Yeah, you know, you do that thing when you’re thinkin,” he trails off, blushing lightly and looking away before continuing. “Just, anyway, what is it?”

Cas just stares for another uncomfortable moment before he answers. “I feel like I’ve seen this before, but I can’t seem to place it. It is an unsettling feeling because normally my memory is flawless.”

Dean frowns, pursing his lips. “’Cause of Rowena’s spell?”

Cas shrugs, looking disturbed. “It’s possible.”

Sam pulls up in the Impala, cutting off any response Dean would have made, and they head back into town. They trade information on the way. Sam is intrigued by Cas’ description of the smudge, but he doesn’t really have anything to show for his morning’s work. No EMF or sulfur at the crime scenes and nothing obviously suggesting spirit possession. Friends, family and neighbors of the victims and guilty parties alike confirmed that there were normal everyday grievances between them, but nothing that would lead to such brutal attacks.

“Father Becker is going to meet us at the church this afternoon,” Sam shares. “They’ve roped off the transept where it happened.”

“Tran what now?” Dean questions.

“Transept,” Cas responds from the back seat. “It’s the transverse arm of a cruciform church.”

“In English, Rain Man.”

Even though Dean can’t see him from the front seat, he can tell Cas just rolled his eyes. “Catholic churches are often built in the shape of a cross. The transept is the shorter arm.”

Dean shakes his head. “Why the hell didn’t you just say that?”

From the front seat, Dean has a clear view when Sam rolls his eyes. “Not the point, Dean. We’re meeting him at one.”

Dean looks down at his watch. “Great. Let’s eat.”

Since the diner by the railroad tracks is the only restaurant in town, they end up there for the second day in a row. Joyce is there again, an ornate golden dragon with ruby eyes stuck in her hair, and she grins when she waits on their table. Cas is silent while they eat, but at least this time he orders food so that it doesn’t draw attention. The meal is awkward. They can’t really discuss the case in public and Cas is resolutely ignoring Dean again, even going to far as to give him a dirty look when he snags a French fry off the angel’s plate. It’s not like he’s going to eat it.

In order to escape the oppressive silence of the table, Dean excuses himself to the bathroom as soon as he’s done eating. As he weaves amongst the tables and booths to the back of the diner, he glances back at the table. Cas has finally broken the silence and is chatting with Sam. Dean frowns and pushes away the sour taste in the back of his throat.

When Dean comes back out of the bathroom, Sam and Cas are already outside. He can see them standing next to the car through the front windows. They look comfortable together, friendly. He doesn’t realize how long he’s been watching them until Joyce stops beside him, following his gaze. “Workplace romances are hard,” she says with a little chuckle, turning to top off the coffees at the table behind them.

Her words startle Dean out of his musing. “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, forgive me. I’m just a busy body, you know. It’s just, I hate to see people unhappy,” says, resting one weathered hand on his arm.

Dean frowns. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, I mean, the dark haired fellow? You and he are clearly on the outs about something and the tall guy is taking full advantage of it. You better stake your claim before he sweeps that one away from you. He’s clearly interested.” She winks knowingly, making Dean’s insides curdle.

He opens his mouth, then realizes he was about to blurt out the truth and catches himself. “We’re just partners. That’s it, lady. You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he bites out gruffly.

She pales, pulling her hand back quickly. “Oh, I’m sorry. Just ignore me. I’m just an old lady with too much time on her hands. Used to meddlin’ in other people’s business.”

Dean stalks out to the car without responding, yanking the door open and climbing into the driver’s seat. He slams the door shut and waits for Sam and Cas to get in, his insides churning. It’s ridiculous is what it is. Sam, interested in Cas. Sam doesn’t even like guys, not that Dean has ever noticed. The idea is just silly. Not that Dean would care of course, because he and Cas are just friends. They open the passenger side doors at the same time, Cas chuckling softly at something Sam is saying. Dean shoves the car into reverse almost before Sam gets his door shut.

The rest of the afternoon is more of the same. While Dean and Sam go to the church, Cas wanders the nearby cemetery to see if he can find any signs that might lead them to a spirit possession. Dean hates the idea of Cas going off by himself, but he’s relieved to get some space so he doesn’t have to watch him chatting and laughing with Sam

It’s no wonder they had to cordon off the part of the church where the murder had happened over the weekend. There are cast off blood spatters on the walls and the ceiling where the elderly woman had pulled the silver candelabra back to strike the young man over and over, until finally separating his head and one arm from his body. Even without the corpse, the scene is gruesome.

“Had Mrs. Nagle had any run-ins with the victim that you know of?” Sam asks the priest while Dean pokes around in the sanctuary looking for readings, cold spots or the smell of sulfur. Once again, there is nothing.

The elderly priest sighs. “Kyle was not exactly a model member of our congregation. He mostly came because his parents insisted when he was home from college. Mrs. Nagle taught eleventh grade when Kyle was in school and from my understanding Kyle was quite the handful there as well.”

“So, you’d say that there was animosity between them?”

“Animosity may be a strong word,” he says with a grimace. “It was more the intolerance that the older generation has for the younger and vice versa. Certainly nothing that would spark this kind of violence. Patrice has been a member of this congregation since we were children. I’ve known her our whole lives. She wouldn’t normally hurt a fly. I just don’t understand it.”  He’s clearly distraught.

“Well, thank you for your time, Father. We appreciate it. If you think of anything else that might be helpful, anything at all, please give me a call,” Sam says, handing the man a card.

Dean falls into step with him as they walk down the aisle to the back of the church. A young woman, no older than seventeen or eighteen, is sitting in the back row of pews, her head bowed. She blanches when she sees Sam.

“Jessica Shaffer,” Sam says, slowing to whisper to Dean. “Her mother was the first victim. Her father bashed her head in with her brother’s baseball bat.”

“Agent Lynott,” she greets Sam when they approach her. 

Sam stops and motions toward Dean. “Jessica, this is my partner, Agent Downey. I didn’t realize you’re a member of the congregation here.”

“Oh, I’d say half the town is.” Her eyes are tired and listless. “I was baptized in this church.”

“So, you knew Mrs. Nagle and Kyle Staton?”

“Sure. I mean, Kyle’s a few years older than me, but I knew him. Mrs. Nagle taught my catechism class. It’s just horrible. I don’t understand what is happening,” she says, her voice starting to rise in distress.

“We’re trying to get to the bottom of that,” Sam assures her. “Father Becker said that Mrs. Nagle and Kyle didn’t get along. I’m sorry to ask this, Jessica, but were your parents having problems?”

The teenager flushes red, twisting her hands nervously. She swallows hard before responding. “A couple of weeks before the, well, before, my dad started to get weird. Like, he was accusing my mom of seeing someone, like he thought she was cheating on him. But that’s stupid. My mom wouldn’t do that. And even if she would, when would she have the time? My dad worked night shift, so any time me or my brother weren’t home, he was. My mom never had time to herself, let alone time to have an affair.” Her eyes glisten and then overflow with tears until she’s weeping softly. Before Dean can offer her the folded up napkin in his pocket, she pulls out a tissue and blots at her eyes.

Sam glances at Dean out of the corner of his eye. “Do you have any idea where he would have gotten that idea?” he asks gently.

“None. It’s just so stupid,” she says, then her eyes harden. “God is testing us, this whole town, and we’re failing.”

“Why do you say that?”

“We’re supposed to love on another and help people. That’s what He teaches us, but look at what’s happening. Everyone is judging and gossiping and going behind each other’s backs. There’s something very, very wrong here. It’s like this whole town is cursed,” she says passionately, before dissolving into tears again. Dean and Sam exchange a pointed look before excusing themselves.

“Do you think she’s right? Could the whole town be cursed?” Dean asks as they pull out of the church parking lot to head back to the hotel. Cas reported that he found nothing suspicious in the graveyard, but that isn’t surprising considering the great big goose egg they have for leads.

“I guess it’s possible,” Sam responds. “What do you think, Cas? Could an entire town be cursed?”

Dean watches Cas frown in the rear view mirror. “It is possible, I suppose, but not likely. It is more probable that this is the work of some kind of witchcraft or cursed object. If the whole town was cursed, I would be seeing the dark spot on more people’s souls.”

“Have you noticed anyone that hasn’t gone Lizzy Borden with the soul smudge thing?” Dean asks, careful not to make eye contact in the mirror when Cas turns to him.

“I haven’t,” he says.

They’re on the highway two minutes out of town when Sam’s phone rings. He answers it and Dean can tell immediately that something is wrong. He puts on his turn signal and takes the next exit before Sam even hangs up. “That was the sheriff. There’s been another murder, at one of the garages in town.” He gives Dean the address and waits until he gets back on the highway headed south before he continues. “He said it’s, ah, pretty bad. Unlike the last couple cases, there were actually witnesses. One of the guys got in a fight with a co-worker at the garage and pretty much hacked him apart in front of three other mechanics and his boss. He took a couple chunks out of the other guys before they got him subdued. They have him locked in the break room. Sheriff says he’s ranting like a wild animal, practically foaming at the mouth. Says they’re gonna have to tranq him if they can’t get him calmed down.”

There are ambulances and police cars lining the street in front of the shop when they arrive, blue, white and red lights reflecting off the glass doors on the front of the building.  They flash their badges and head inside, meeting up with the sheriff, who looks a little green. “Back bay, on the left. Try not to step on any pieces,” he says, swallowing a retch. “Crime scene team is on its way. They’re gettin’ ready to tranq Larry, so if you wanna see him before they take him down, come on.”

Sam taps Cas on the arm and points toward the back of the garage where the sheriff is disappearing.  “You check out the scene,” he says to Dean. “See if there’s anything at a fresh scene that we mighta missed at the older ones.”

“Why do I gotta check the chunks?” Dean grouses.

“Because Cas needs to see Larry to tell if he’s got that smudge on his soul that the other’s had,” Sam explains.

Dean is about to ask why Sam needs to go with Cas instead of him, but he swallows the words. Of course, Cas is pissed at Dean so naturally he’d want Sam with him. He shoves the burning in his chest aside and stalks to the back of the garage, trying to pull out his EMF detector without attracting attention.

There is, of course, bupkis in the way of EMF or sulfur in the shop. Just lots of gooey parts and blood. The crime scene team arrives and loads the corpse into a body bag, scooping up a couple of errant parts and depositing them in the bag with him. For a guy who had four people trying to wrestle the power tools away from him, Larry sure did a number on poor Tony. His face isn’t even recognizable and he’s missing part of one hand and a chunk from his left leg.

When Dean meets Sam and Cas at the front of the garage, he can tell from Cas’ pinched brows that he didn’t like what they had found. It took a tranquilizer gun to finally sedate Larry enough to move him to the psych hospital. The ambulance pulls away with him and a team of armed guards just as Dean is starting the car. “I got zilch in the way of anything,” Dean says.

Cas and Sam exchange a look that makes Dean’s blood boil. For fuck’s sake, he was just trying to look out for Cas, just didn’t want him to get hurt, wanted him to take care of himself, and suddenly he’s the fucking bad guy. So much for a more profound bond. It certainly looks like Cas prefers Sam these days.

He tries to ignore the anger building up inside him and focus on what Sam is saying. “Larry’s coworkers were pretty banged up, but they were coherent. They all agreed he’s been acting weird since yesterday, picking fights with this Tony guy for no reason. Today, out of the blue, he loses it and starts screaming that Tony is screwing around with his wife. Picks up a cut-off saw they use for removing exhausts and goes after Tony with it. Took all four of them to bring him down, but it was too late for Tony. One of them lost a finger and two of the others needed stitches. They all agreed that there’s no way Tony is involved with the wife. They have no idea where Larry would have even gotten the idea, since his wife is devoted to him and Tony’s got a girlfriend the next town over he sees every night.” Sam is flipping through a folder the sheriff gave him with background on Larry and Tony.

“Larry definitely had the largest, blackest smudge of the people we’ve seen, and given the brutality of this attack and how quickly he escalated, it’s safe to say that whatever is preying on this town is getting stronger,” Cas adds.

“And we’ve got jack shit on what it might be,” Dean growls, punching the steering wheel.

“We’ve got town records and the crime scene files from the first assaults in the room. Now that we know the pattern, we might see something,” Sam suggests.

They pick up dinner from the fast food joint next to the hotel and take it back to their room. While Dean munches on greasy fried chicken, he flips through the file on Larry while Sam looks up more records on the computer and Cas thumbs through the reports on previous violent deaths in the town going back a few hundred years.

He flips the page and finds a picture of Larry that was obviously taken at some kind of softball tournament. “Wait,” he says, flipping the file around to show Sam and Cas. “This guy was in the diner yesterday when we were there.”

Cas leans forward to look at the picture. “I don’t remember seeing him.”

 _Because you were sulking_ , Dean wants to say. Instead he answers, “He was sitting in the back corner, by the bathrooms. Your back was to him the whole time, but he was definitely there. Shit, if you saw him we could have seen if he had the mark yesterday.”

“Given that everyone has reported that they were acting weird for days or weeks before the assaults, we can assume they were infected, or whatever, before they actually went rabid,” Sam adds. “I’ll do some searches and see if I can track the other people’s movements, see if there’s a pattern or anything.”

Dean yawns and stretches. “While you’re doin’ that, I’m gonna jump in the shower. I feel like I have Tony juice on me.”

“Gross, Dean,” Sam calls as he closes the door behind him.

The shower is blessedly hot and Dean feels marginally better when he gets out. He towel dries his hair and pulls on an old pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt to sleep in. When he pulls open the bathroom door, Cas and Sam are sitting at the table, their heads close together as they look at something on the laptop screen. They’re almost close enough to kiss. If Sam just turns his head the slightest bit to the side, his lips would be pressed against the corner of Cas’ mouth.

Is that what they do when Dean isn’t around? Is that why Cas has been acting so different lately? He’s been spending a lot of time in Sam’s bedroom, binging Netflix and lounging around, and Sam has been taking care of him a lot since he’s been weak from the spell. That’s probably when it happened, when they started sneaking around behind his back. The past few weeks when Sam has been tucking Cas in with blankets and a heating pad and making sure he’s comfortable. It should have been Dean doing those things, not Sam.

“Are you okay, Dean?” Cas says, breaking Dean out of his thoughts. “Is something wrong?” The angel looks worried, his blue eyes soft and concerned. Very unlike the distance that has been in them the last few days.

Dean shakes his head to clear it and grunts a denial before flopping onto his bed. He pulls his headphones from his duffle bag and plugs them into his phone before bringing up his playlist. Settling the headphones over his ears, he closes his eyes, shutting out the image of Sam and Cas exchanging troubled looks.

He breathes deeply, trying to focus on the music, but every song reminds him of Cas. He thinks about what the woman at the diner said, that he should make a move before Sam does. Is that what he wants? Does he think of Cas that way? Within the silence of his own head, Dean can admit that he does, that he’s wanted that for a while. Cas is his best friend, and he’s not so far in denial that he can ignore the fact that he admires the way Cas looks sometimes. But he thought now that Cas is staying with them in the bunker, and not flitting off, he’d have time to see where it might go. He never considered it might be his own brother who stands in the way of what he wants.

Dean’s hands curl into fists, gripping the comforter beneath him, and he can’t even hear the music any more over the pounding of blood in his ears. It’s not fair that Sam should get to have what Dean wants. He thinks back to Sam asking him if he’s ever thought of settling down with someone in the life. Was Sam talking about Cas? Was that Sam’s way of cluing Dean in about what was going on between his brother and his angel?

Dean’s breathing becomes more and more erratic as he imagines all of the things Sam and Cas must do behind his back. They’ve probably fucked in Sam’s room at night while Dean is asleep right down the hall. Sam probably touches him in all the ways that Dean wishes he could, wishes that he would allow himself. It’s not fair that Sam swooped in while Dean was waiting for his chance.

Dean opens his eyes, a boiling hot rage burning through him. It’s not right. Cas is _his_ angel. Cas pulled him out of hell and they’ve died for each other. It was Dean that spent a year in Purgatory with Cas, Dean who loves him, Dean who wants him. Not Sam. It’s not fair that Sam should be able to take that away from him.

He looks over to the table. They are still sitting next to each other, and now their arms are touching, they are so close. They’re practically pressed together from hip to shoulder. Are they just waiting for Dean to fall asleep so they can mess around? Do they fuck in the bed right on the other side of the room while he’s sleeping? The thought of Sam pressing his body against Cas makes Dean violently ill and he sits up with a shout. “Get the fuck away from him,” he growls.

“Dean?” “What?” “What’s wrong?” Their eyes are worried, voices talking over each other in alarm. Probably because they got caught, because they can see that Dean knows what is going on, what has been going on right under his nose.

He clambers off the bed, ripping off the headphones and throwing them against the wall. He grabs Sam by the front of his shirt and the astonishment allows him to yank his brother out of the chair even though Sam’s got two dozen pounds on him. “You don’t get to fucking touch him,” he snarls. “He’s my angel, not yours. You think I don’t know? That I don’t see what’s happening? You think you can fuck him behind my back and I won’t find out?”

Sam is so shocked that he doesn’t even flinch until Dean’s fist connects with his cheekbone, the force making his head snap back. Dean roars incoherently, lunging in to tackle Sam to the floor, when suddenly there are strong arms wrapped around him from behind. He remembers this, remembers Cas capturing him from behind when he was a hairs breadth from killing Sammy when he was a demon. Now that he’s just Dean, no demon, no Mark, Cas holds him easily, but it doesn’t stop him from snapping and snarling.

“Let me go, Cas, let me go. Once he’s out of the way, we can be together. It’s not fair that he should have you. You’re mine, my angel. You’ve always been mine,” he howls.

“Dean, stop, please stop,” Cas is yelling and Sam is yelling and the voices inside his head won’t stop. _He’s yours_ , they chant. _Don’t let Sam have him. He belongs to you. He’ll never be yours as long as Sam is in the way._ Dean isn’t even sure which voices are real and which are inside his head anymore.

“He’s infected,” he hears Cas yell. “The darkness is like an oil slick covering his soul. I can see it now. It came on so fast, he must have been infected in the past few hours.”

“Can you hold him?” Sam shouts back over the howling in Dean’s head. “We’ve got cuffs and rope in the back of the Impala. Can you hold him long enough for me to go get them?”

Dean’s head is throbbing, a noise like a freight train pounding through it, the voice wailing like a banshee over the noise. _Stop him, stop him, he’s going to take your angel and you’ll be alone. You’ll have nothing. They laugh at you behind your back because they think you’re too stupid to see what they’re doing._

“I don’t need to hold him,” Cas calls, and then he releases Dean with one arm. Before Dean can spin away to go after Sam again, two fingers press against his forehead and everything goes to black.

* * *

* * *

 

Dean cracks one eye open, a thin, pale light is filtering through the blinds on the window of the hotel room. His head is aching and his mouth is gummy, like the worst hangover he’s ever had. When his head doesn’t actually explode from the pain, he cracks open the other eye. Sam and Cas are sitting at the table on the other side of the room, a teenage girl between them. Wait, what?

Dean closes his eyes and counts to ten, then opens them again. The girl is still there and he finally recognizes her. Jessica Shaffer. The kid from the church. Her dad whacked her mom. He looks around the room. They’re still in the Comfort Inn from what he can tell. What is she doing here? What the hell happened?

He starts to try to prop himself up on his elbows, and the motion attracts their attention. In a flash, Cas is sitting on the bed next him, one cool hand pressed to Dean’s forehead. “How are you feeling, Dean?” he asks gravely.

“Like a train hit me,” Dean croaks, his voice hoarse like he’s been shouting.

Sam approaches with a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and Cas spins the lid off. He holds it to Dean’s mouth and tips it slightly, letting the water dribble past his lips. Dean takes a few swallows, then pulls away. “What the hell happened?” he rasps.

“You were infected,” Cas says. “By the Whore.”

Dean shakes his head, but it makes the room spin, so he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he opens them again. “What? The Whore? The Whore of Babylon?” At Cas’ nod, he curses again. “I thought we ganked that bitch back during the apocalypse?”

Sam nods, glancing back at where Jessica is still sitting at the table. She looks pale, but stoic. “We did, but apparently releasing the darkness upset the balance or something and she was able to come back topside. She’s been preying on this town ever since we got rid of the Mark.”

Dean scrunches his eyes shut again. “I have a feeling I missed something.”

Sam and Cas get Dean sitting up and help him to the table, where they fill him in on what he missed while he was unconscious.

“It was Joyce, the woman from the diner,” Cas shares. “She was spreading false prophesy just like Leah Gideon. Something clicked for me during your fit and I remembered where I’d seen that smudge before. It was in the people in that town who had fallen under her spell and killed for her. It was faint then, and I wasn’t, well, I wasn’t at my best at that time.” He looks away sheepishly. He was almost human and hungover from an epic binge is what he means.

“But this time she was doing it with some friendly advice and a touch powered by the darkness being released,” Sam adds.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes. “Wouldn’t have expected a seventy year old Whore.” He glances over at the girl sitting across from him. “And you ganked her?”

“With Jessica’s help,” Cas admits. “She was actually the one who figured out that it was Joyce spreading lies.”

“I prayed on it,” the girl says softly. “And suddenly I just knew it was her. I called Sam and they explained that you aren’t actually FBI agents. I knew what I had to do.”

“Jessica is a true servant of heaven,” Cas says reverently. Jessica bows her head.

“So she ran the old broad through with the holy stick?” Dean says, taking another swig from his water bottle. The aspirin Sam gave him are finally starting to kick in.

Jessica nods. “I did what I had to do to save the town and serve God’s will.”

“Huh,” Dean barks. “Guess I just missed all the fun.”

It isn’t long before Jessica asks Sam to take her home. Cas walks them to the door and he and Sam share a look. Sam makes a point of saying that he’ll probably be a while even though where Jessica is staying with her aunt is less than twenty minutes away.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Cas returns to the table, sitting down directly across from Dean. He places both hands on the table, crossed in front of him. Dean gets the feeling that there is going to be _A Talk_ and he wants to squirm in his seat. While they were going through the story of taking down the Whore, he could ignore the fact that he remembers the things he said to Cas and Sam. He remembers everything, even though he wishes he could forget.

“Dean,” Cas starts. His eyes are wide and impossibly blue and Dean can’t look away even though he wants to.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean blurts out. “About what I said at the bunker, I mean. You’re not a nuisance and I don’t give a shit whether you have your juice or not. I just, well, I just worry, man. You’ve been so weak and it scared me to see you like that. I just didn’t want anything to happen to you.” He finally forces himself to stop babbling and look away.

Cas scoots his chair around the table until he’s sitting beside Dean. He lays his hand on Dean’s cheek and uses the pressure to turn Dean back to face him. “I know, Dean. I figured that much out. I wish you would just say what you are thinking instead of making things so hard on all of us.”

Dean tries to look away in shame, but Cas holds him steady. “I’m sorry,” he croaks out.

Cas sighs, bringing his other hand up to cup Dean’s face. “You said some things when you were infected,” he murmurs, eyes searching Dean’s. “Do you remember?”

This is Dean’s chance. He can say he doesn’t remember and he knows Cas won’t push. This is Cas giving him an out. He opens his mouth to deny that he remembers, but instead he says softly, “I remember.”

Cas nods, just a slight movement, still staring into Dean’s eyes. “And did you mean what you said, or was that the infection talking?” There’s a wavering hope in Cas’ eyes that make it impossible for Dean to even blink.

He takes a deep breath. “Not the stuff about Sam. I know there’s nothing going on between you and Sam. That was the Whore juice amping me up,” he says softly. He takes another deep breath and swallows before licking his dry lips. “But the rest? The stuff about you being mine, about wanting you to be mine? Yeah, I meant that.”

Cas relaxes, tension bleeding out of his body that Dean didn’t even realize he was holding. His eyes are suddenly glistening with unshed tears. “I want that too, Dean,” he says, his voice even more gravelly than usual, as if he’s forcing the words out over hot coals. “I want to be yours. In every way possible. I already am, Dean. I think I always have been.”

Dean watches Cas’ mouth as he forms the words that Dean has wanted to hear for so long. He brings his own hands up to cup Cas’ face the same way that Cas is holding him. “That’s good, Cas. That’s real good,” he murmurs, leaning forward slowly. Time seems to move in slow motion as he bridges the inches, centimeters, millimeters, until his lips brush gently against his angel’s. Cas sighs into his mouth, sliding his arms around Dean’s neck and pressing them together until he’s practically in Dean’s lap before he pulls away. Dean sighs happily, pressing another kiss to Cas’ cheek. “That’s real good.”


End file.
